


opposites attract

by laedymoonarchive



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laedymoonarchive/pseuds/laedymoonarchive
Summary: --- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---summary: you’re introduced by your best friend at imperial college, freddie, to his band mates. you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic blonde drummer, with one considerable hurdle holding you back.warnings: fluff, smut (18+), reader's first time, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), a tad of orgasm denial, slight angst, alcohol, swearingwordcount: 8k
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Kudos: 14





	opposites attract

**Author's Note:**

> \--- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---
> 
> summary: you’re introduced by your best friend at imperial college, freddie, to his band mates. you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic blonde drummer, with one considerable hurdle holding you back. 
> 
> warnings: fluff, smut (18+), reader's first time, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), a tad of orgasm denial, slight angst, alcohol, swearing
> 
> wordcount: 8k

“i’ve got no qualms about having a slash all over your precious red fucking special.”

“unless you want my foot through your bass drum, roger.”

“how about mine up your arse?”

“god, you’re a bloody kid sometimes.”

“oh, come off it brian.”

“are you sure this is the best time for me to be meeting the band, fred?” you nod your head towards the studio door, through which you can hear the muffled yells of the band mates freddie’s been begging to introduce you to for almost a month now.

your closest college friend dismisses your concerns with a flourish of his black varnished fingernails.

“they’re both being bloody drama queens. they’ll come off it once they lay their eyes on you dear.”

if you’ve learnt one thing since befriending freddie bulsara at the start of first year, it’s that he’s as stubborn as a mule. his persistence is admirable when it comes to musical pursuits, but as far as your personal life goes, it’s downright bloody annoying. he’s not yet given up on the hope that you’ll fancy one of his aforementioned band mates and he’ll get _“cupid credit”_ for the rest of your happy lives together. no matter how many times you’ve told him _it’s not going to happen._

“stop it, fred.” you blush. “i’m not being set up with a mate of yours.”

 _“why not?”_ freddie pouts.

“i don’t want a boyfriend right now.” you shrug, flitting your eyes away from his scrutinising gaze.

_lies, lies, lies._

you wouldn’t mind a boyfriend, truthfully. it’s simply that you don’t know how to have one. you’d had just about your fair share of dalliances throughout high school. the kind of affairs that lasted a week, pretty much consisted of snogging after school and sitting next to each other at assemblies and that always ended with the perfunctory “you’re dropped”, delivered either by your friends at lunch or a corner torn out of your maths book. the thought of having a real relationship makes your knees knock. and, of course, there’s the other reason. one you’re fairly certain you‘ll never divulge to freddie until it’s well and truly taken care of.

“but you’re such a pretty little thing! john would drool over you.” freddie protests.

“oh, shut it. you’re far too kind to me.” you realised within weeks of meeting him that freddie’s compliments come fast and often. he’s constantly tugging on a strand of your hair and whining about how his is never quite as shiny, bopping your nose or pinching your cheeks and telling you how beautiful your bone structure is. an ego boost at first, and one you readily accepted, but now you’ve learnt to discount them to a certain degree. he hands them out like hot cakes.

“what about a girlfriend, then?”

“ _freddie.”_ you warn.

freddie lets a breath out through his teeth and drops his lids.

“brian and john are going to be inconsolable.” he mutters, melodramatic as always. you quirk an eyebrow in confusion.

_there’s another member, isn’t there?_

“fine, _fine_. come on then. you’ve still got to meet the tossers.” freddie’s still mumbling, hand moving for the doorknob until you place yours over it to stop him.

“i thought there was another member.”

“hmm? yeah, roger. i wouldn’t worry about him.” freddie chuckles.

“how come? this roger wouldn’t be _inconsolable_ to be deprived of me?” you say, mimicking freddie’s theatrical flourish.

“i don’t know a man who wouldn’t, darling.”

 _no one can make you blush like freddie_.

“but roger kind of seems your antithesis, if i’m to be completely honest.”

“what does that even mean, fred?”

“well, he’s- you’ll see, i presume. you’re all giggly and shy and blush at the slightest fucking hint of praise. and you just told me you’re _not interested in a boyfriend.”_ he elaborates, leaving you no less confused than before.

“and roger’s…?”

“roger’s somewhat of a….” freddie trails off and flicks his eyes downwards.

“a what?” you follow, your stomach flipping over.

_creep?_

_wanker?_

_“a ladies man.”_ freddie insinuates, twisting his lips into a smirk in the hope that you’ll catch on. and you do.

_“oh.”_

“all i’m saying is that he’s a little brash and i just assumed you wouldn’t take to him.”

your gut twists in anticipation. _loud. confident. shags around._ rogers’s beginning to sound like every high school boy you ever hated.

“should i be worried?”

freddie quirks a dark eyebrow and twists the knob, ignoring your question.

he swings open the door and waltzes in without hesitation, lacing his fingers around your wrist and tugging you in behind him.

“boys, this is my favourite girl in the world.” freddie announces, placing his hands on your shoulders like a proud mum. you can feel your face begin to heat up the second three pairs of eyes fall onto you. you’ve always been a little shy, a little more reserved, a little less than eager to meet new people. your heart is thundering at the sight.

“this is john, our bassist.” freddie points towards a skinny, long haired guy with kind eyes that crinkle as he smiles at you.

“deaky.” he murmurs, pushing the black lacquered bass guitar slung over his front around to the side so he can shake your hand as you give him your name in return.

“pleased to meet you, _deaky.”_ you grin, his shy warmth putting you at an instant ease.

“and this is _briiaan.”_ freddie draws out the name of the dark, dishy lad, wiggling his eyebrows at you infuriatingly.

_holy shit, his hair is incredible._

“pleasure.” brian offers his hand to you, and it takes you a moment to accept because _blimey, his hands are lovely._ big, with long, elegant fingers and pronounced knuckles stacked in silver rings. his fingertips are hard and calloused on your palm.

“a guitarist, then?” you raise his hand in yours.

“a bloody shit one at that.” a mumble comes from your left. brian’s grin turns into an exasperated eye roll directed over your shoulder.

“what a perfect introduction.” freddie quips. “darling, this is our drummer and resident stroppy bitch, roger taylor.”

you turn to face the owner of the whiny, husky tone you just heard. your antithesis. the great, sex-on-legs, ladies man himself.

hickies. the first you notice about him. three of them. fading and purple and marking the territory along the column of his throat. you can’t imagine ever flaunting them so freely. you’d wrapped yourself up in scarves for a week the one time a boy left the slightest inkling of a love bite on your neck.

“rogah taylah, love.” he drawls, his thick accent low and rough and somehow sweet, drawing your attention away from his neck, which you release you’ve been staring at for _way too long._

_god._

his eyes are almost too blue. the kind of blue that reminds you of the sea in cornwall where you used to holiday, the aging cerulean paint that would flake off the weatherboards of the boat sheds on particularly stormy nights.

*he’s almost too pretty to be male*, with lashes long enough to cast delicate shadows on to his anger flushed cheeks and hair the colour of freshly popped champagne.

it’s all you can do to keep your mouth from dropping open at the sight of such a sparkly, handsome man who straddles rock god and greek god like a cowboy

 _“hi.”_ you say softly and instantly want to smack yourself. hi? since when are you the kind of girl to get all tongue tied and giggly over a boy?

_always, you idiot._

roger taylor is clearly no exception. you wish you’d been a little less harsh on your stance with freddie about not being set up with him.

but he is, as freddie most delicately put it, _a ladies man_. it’s clear in the twinkly once-over he gives you under his lashes, the way he taps the pads of his fingers against your palm as you shake hands, the smirk that seems to slide onto his face almost automatically. not to mention the bountiful population of hickies on his neck.

_how you’d love to add that collection. but a ladies man is the opposite of what you need._

“how do you know our matriarch then?” roger says, dropping down onto the couch shoved into the corner of the room. it’s some kind of faux velvet, crushed and brown and most likely sporting a few cum and piss stains here and there. but you don’t think twice about sitting down when roger pats the spot next to him.

 _god. you’re not to flirt with this man. promise._ you scoff to yourself. _as if you’d even know how to flirt with a man like roger._

“uni. i’d been eyeing off his style for weeks before i found out we were in the same dorm building.”

“i’m surprised i’ve never seen you before. you know roger and i go to imperial as well?” brian says.

“that’s right! fred told me. you’re studying astrophysics, yeah? fascinating stuff, all that.”

brian’s face breaks into a grin immediately. “really? did freddie tell you to say that?” 

“not at all.” you laugh. “i’d love to pick your brain about it sometime.”

“you’ll never let her leave, now, will you bri?” freddie pokes his side as brian shakes his curly head.

“and what’re you studying?” roger says.

“photography and studio arts.” you drag your eyes away from his hands, twirling patterns into the fabric.

“you’re bloody good, too. fred’s showed us some of your photos.” john _-deaky-_ says.

“you really think so? i wasn’t too sure about my last portfolio. thought it was a bit too abstract and that.” you turn yourself away from roger a little. it feels good to exercise a shred of self control.

_good to know you have any._

“bollocks. it was beautiful stuff.” brian protests, perching on the edge of the couch.

“thank you.” you blush. what is it about receiving compliments that makes you all stuttery and awkward? a little more understandable, you guess, when said compliments come from a crop of painfully pretty men whom you’re meeting for the first time.

“what do you take photos of?” roger hums from just behind you. you shift to face him slightly.

“hmm? what do i photograph?”

roger nods, a small smile on his lips as he leans toward you.

“everything, really. i guess i have a bit of a fascination with beautiful objects. neglected and beautiful.” _try to keep a lid on it._ you know you could very easily rabbit on about photography for hours.

“and what qualifies as a beautifully neglected object in your book, love?”

_does he really have to call you that?_

“uh, old books. jewels covered in dust…melted candles. stuff with a bit of a story.” you elaborate, resisting the urge to unload on him the story of the time you went to the camden passage and spent six hours photographing vintage clocks. roger doesn’t seem quite the type to take to your antiquing stories.

“i love that kind of thing.” you’re shocked to hear him say, his gaze breaking into a keen smile. “you know fred and i run a stall at the kensington markets? we sell these amazing embellished blazers and fur coats, all secondhand. one time we found a ticket in the pocket to an opera from 1887.”

“that sounds incredible. maybe i’ll come and take some photographs sometime.” you say, fairly taken aback.

“rog and i would be happy to model.” freddie cries, even though you wish he wasn’t joking. how you’d love to fill your camera with pictures of roger wrapped up in elegant vintage apparel.

“what model do you use, by the way? camera model, i mean.” roger says.

“a couple. my favourite right now’s a canon ex auto. amazing clarity.”

“what others?”

“so many questions.” you tut. “is someone regretting their dentistry read?”

you’re shocked at yourself, really. you’re not the kind of girl to have easy conversations with attractive strangers, nor are you the type to make promises to yourself and throw them out the bloody window the minute a boy takes an interest in your hobby. but you’re just so taken off guard by roger’s genuine interest in you. freddie’s right; he is flirtatious, assertive, everything you’re not. but _god_ , he’s lovely.

“yes.” roger groans. “but for different reasons entirely.”

“i’ll bet you a quid i can guess what those are.” you say, dropping your arm over the couch’s to tap a high hat with your ring finger.

“I guess i owe you a quid then. or maybe a drink, instead?”

_shit, he’s good._

“smooth, rog.” brian mutters under his breath.

you can feel your cheeks flushing, your mouth slightly agape. is this a date you’re being asked on? and if so, is roger expecting it to end with a quick shag in the ladies bathroom and nothing more? or will it be followed by another date? dinner, perhaps. seeing his flat. meeting his mates. because you’re not quite sure you’re prepared for either option.

luckily, brian must notice your conflicted expression, because he comes to your rescue.

“we usually go to the fox and hare after rehearsals. come along.” he says, flashing you a smile much prettier than your own.

“oh, i don’t know. i’m quite a lightweight.” you cringe. one beer is usually enough to get you significantly tipsy and a shot or two has you falling over your own feet.

“nonsense. you’ll fit right in with roger.” deaky chuckles. you look at the blonde in surprise. something about him screamed _‘someone who can hold their liquor’._

“oh fuck off deaks.” he says, whacking deaky with the back of his hand.

“i wouldn’t have guessed it.” you mutter and brian raises an eyebrow at you.

“he’s joking. roger can take about eighty five shots and barely loose his balance. it’s quite the phenomenon, actually.”

“ah hah. that somehow makes more sense.”

“pretty much your opposite, then, dear.” freddie winks a mischievously sparkling hickory-brown eye at you

_“i guess so, freddie.”_

———————

“you asked for this.” you say, tipping your glass towards the three men opposite you.

one drink, you’d agreed to.

two, you’d slightly protested.

three you’d positively refused.

and yet somehow, here you are, four drinks in and feeling the same kind of buzzing in your head that usually left you hunched over a toilet bowl by midnight.

maybe you’re drinking because glasses keep getting put in front of you. maybe it’s because you feel comfortable enough to let loose a little around freddie and the band. but, most likely, it’s because you’re trying to distract yourself from the way rogers thigh pressed against yours in the crowded booth makes you feel.

so far it hasn’t worked.

“we certainly did.” freddie says, exchanging an amused glance with john. the boys themselves are varying degrees of tipsy, brian by far the drunkest and roger barely blinking an eye as he downs another shot.

“brian. bri bri.” you giggle, tapping the shoulder of the guitarist, whose currently got his eyes closed, swaying to the shitty pub music playing over the speakers. he’s a funny drunk, and so are you, judging by the entertained expressions on the other boy’s faces.

 _“bri bri.”_ roger rolls his eyes with a snigger. 

“yeah?” brian hums.

“talk to me about astrophysics.”

brian’s eyes flutter open. “astrophysics? that’s what i’m studying.”

 _“oh, god._ did someone spike his drink?” john mumbles.

“that’s why she’s asking you, mate.” freddie says patronisingly, and you nod excitedly beside him.

“ah. of course!”

“so what’s your thesis about?”

“uh, interplanetary dust. the motion of dust between us and the sun.”

“very cosmic.” freddie whispers to deaky.

“there’s a surprising amount of it, actually. you can, in fact, see it if you’re in the right place at the right time. a very clear sky and a very dark sky.”

“tell her about your zodiacal light.” freddie encourages, clearly taking pleasure in the painfully bored expressions of both roger and deaky’s faces. it’s clear they’ve heard this many times before.

“yeah, it’s called a zodiacal light. it’s a sort of milky glow, looks something like the milky way, but it’s a cone of light which stretches along the ecliptic with the sun as the center.” brian says, leaving you stunned by how quickly his demeanour can switch from drunken stupor to spitting out a deeply intellectual sentence you barely understand. 

_“wow.”_ you breath.

“i listened to him whine about this for an hour last night. i’m getting another drink.” roger huffs, sliding out of the booth. your leg feels suddenly cold.

“i’ll come.” freddie says.

“me too.” john shoots brian a glance as he follows freddie and roger to the bar.

“i’ve made such a great first impression on all of you. getting pissed off my face.” you chuckle, hiding your face in your hands.

“certainly made an impression on roger.” brian giggles, swirling what’s left of his drink with his elongated ring finger.

_an impression on roger?_

“what?”

“oh, bullshit. have you really not realised how much he fancies you?”

you shake your head slowly. you’re surprised, and a little sobered. he’d been nice at the studio, sure, possibly even asked you out. but you’ve talked it down in your head to him simply being his flirtatious, friendly self. to hear it put so frankly catches you off guard.

“are you really surprised?”

“yeah. i am.”

“he didn’t even flip it when you touched that beloved drum kit of his.”

“shit, should i not have done that?”

“that’s really my point, love. he doesn’t let just any girl near his drums.”

you look over at roger, his expression mildly impatient as he waits for his drink. even in the pub’s low-light, you can see the beautiful incatricies on his face. the subtle pout in his pillowy bottom lip. his lashes dropping slightly into a bored smolder.

and you think _fuck it._

so what if he’s experienced in a way you’re not? he’s here, he’s lovely, he’s bright and witty and warm. _and he’s beautiful._

you stand up, weaving your way through the booths and stools to reach roger at the bar, ignoring brian’s protests at being left all alone.

“did you want a drink, love?” he says as you approach, eyes flickering lightly over you before returning to the drinks menu behind the bar.

“no, thanks.”

“you sure? i do owe you one.”

“why not, then? i’m barely feeling tispy.” you deadpan, stepping a little closer.

_god, alcohol gives you a lot of confidence._

“and you’re barely acting it.” roger grins, grabbing your arm to steady you as a group of rowdy eighteen year olds rush past.

“fucking teenagers.” you mumble. your skin burns under his touch. he still hasn’t let you go.

“no worse than rock n roll stars.”

“is that what you are now? see, i thought you were a dentist.” you tease.

“and i thought _you_ were supposed to be shy. least, that’s what fred said” his tone teeters on sultry, with an edge you can’t explain. all you know is that you’re closer than you were before, and there’s an arm round your waist tracing circles on your back.

“it’s the alcohol, dr taylor.” you snort, despite the thumping in your chest as roger fixates on you with those painfully pretty eyes. and even though you have _no idea what you’re doing_ , it’s you who bridges the gap. you, who wraps an arm around his neck and crashes your lips to his. and shit, he’s a good kisser and his lips taste deliciously like sugary cocktails even though he’s been drinking nothing but beers and vodka all night.

“maybe you don’t need that drink.” roger muses, breathing heavily as you drop your lips to his chest. 

_“maybe we should just go home.”_

————————

“ow.” you murmur as roger pushes you against the wall with a little too much force, peppering your clavicles with kisses.

“‘m sorry love.” he whispers, rubbing the tender spot at the back of your head with his fingers while moving his lips towards your chest. you nip at his exposed neck, sucking delicate marks into the soft skin. your eyes flutter with pride as you lean back to survey your work, _your addition to the collection._

roger growls into the valley of your breasts as you suck at his skin, tugging your dress off and up and down all at once, finally settling for the straps slipping over your shoulders and the fabric pooling at your midriff. he takes you by your waist, hoisting you onto the counter beside you. his palms, calloused from hours grasping his drumsticks grazing over your thighs is enough to draw a noise from your lips you didn’t even know you were capable of making.

“bloody soaked for me, angel.” he utters as he dips a finger into your underwear and collects arousal you hadn’t even noticed was pooling. your chest begins to thump as he brings his digit to his mouth and swirls his tongue over it. he clearly knows what he’s doing. everything he does is like a lightning bolt to you and he’s bloody aware. your clit twitches as you watch him, heavy lidded and lazily teasing you like he doesn’t realise how desperately you want to be touched.

you’re ready, you know you are. you want to whine his name, beg him to fuck you with those beautiful fingers of his. but you can’t. because you’re too bloody nervous and embarrassed and you feel like a pathetic kid. because his _vastly experienced cock_ is twitching against your leg and as much as you hate to prove freddie right, he’s a seasoned professional and you’re exactly the opposite. so as roger drops his finger from his mouth and teases your clothed clit with the tip, you pull every ounce of self control you have and stifle your moan. you gently push rogers hand out of the way and snap your knees together. roger looks up at you in alarm as you slide off the bench in front of him.

“are you alright?” he says, not quite knowing where to place his hand. it’s the first time you’ve seen him look even slightly out of place. awkward. like he doesn’t know what to do. and he probably doesn’t, because let’s be honest, you’re most likely the first girl ever to deny herself a place on that bench.

“yeah-i.” you stammer, struggling to compose an excuse as you tug your straps back onto your shoulders. you know what you should say. roger would probably understand. he’d probably be lovely. “i’ve just remembered i’ve got to see a friend.” you spit out, heading for the door.

“hey, wait.” roger reaches for your wrist and drops it a second later. you can tell he feels like he’s fucked up. and it makes you feel worse. he’s raking his teeth across his pillowy bottom lip so hard you’re worried he’ll draw blood.

“just… you’re okay?” roger says. you avert your gaze to your finger, grazing over the graffiti scratched into roger’s flat’s wooden door because you just can’t look into those earnest, shrewd, stupidly blue eyes.

a crown etched below the words “her majesty” and above four sets of initials, drawn just above the doorknob your hand is ghosting over.

“yeah i- just need to go. sorry” you stammer, struggling to compose a satisfactory explanation for your behaviour as you tug your straps back over your shoulders.

“i…” roger stares as you twist the knob and step one foot out of his flat. “sorry.”

“please, don’t be.” you mutter as you close the door behind you. 

—————–

“you’re a man-eater! who knew?”

“what on earth are you on about?” you hiss into the phone. it’s the first time you’ve spoken to freddie since roger took you home, and you can only assume that he’s let him in on all the gory details over the past two days. days you’ve spent doing nothing but thinking over your night with roger in excruciating detail, recounting how you self destructed at the chance to be with the only man you’ve really connected with in quite some time.

“roger, of course. he’s even more mopey than usual. what _did_ you do to him?”

“nothing. i had to leave. wasn’t about him, though.” you twist the phone’s cord around your finger until the tip turns white.

“and what in the world did you have to do that required such immediate attention at three am?”

“i-” you know fred won’t fall for your pathetic ‘had to help a friend’ excuse, and you really can’t be tossed coming up with another one. _“oh, fuck off, freddie._ ”

“i’m just a concerned friend, my dear.” freddie chuckles. “are you okay?”

you soften a little as his tone turns serious. “really, i’m fine.”

“are you sure?”

 _should i just tell him?_ you consider, nibbling on your fingernail. you know freddie’s not the type to ridicule or pressure or make you feel like shit. maybe you need to confide in someone. maybe you’ve built it up so much in your head and that’s what stopped you the other night with roger. when you were so close.

“i’m a virgin, fred.” you exhale.

“ha. ha.”

“i’m not pissing you about. really, i am. that’s why i left roger’s the other night. he’s just so experienced and it freaked me out because i’m…well. i’m not.”

there’s a beat of silence on freddie’s end of the phone.

_shit, should i not have said anything? maybe he’s telling roger right now. maybe rogers been listening the whole time. maybe-_

“oh! god, that makes so much more sense! my dear, why didn’t you just tell me?”

his voice, as light and upbeat as ever calms you immediately. _it’s freddie._

“don’t know. was embarrassed.”

“you shouldn’t have been. never got to feel that way with me, alright?”

“i know, fred.”

“now, back to the important task; swiping that v-card. if that’s what you want.”

“ _freddie!_ ” you scold, trying to keep yourself from giggling.

“well, is it?”

“yeah. _really, really.”_

“well, you better be coming to our show tonight then.”

“i don’t think roger will want to see me.” saying his name out loud gives you the tiniest of shivers down your spine. 

freddie sighs into the phone, his tone turning serious. “y/n, roger may be a philanderer, but he’s also an actually lovely person. he’s a top lad, he’s not going to cold-shoulder you just because you didn’t want to sleep with him.” his voice is earnest and you realise he’s right, he must be. otherwise he wouldn’t love roger half as much as he does.

“okay.” you concede, and after freddie’s provided you with all of the nights details, you say goodbye.

“thank you, fred. see you tonight.”

“can’t wait!” before you can hang up, freddie adds one last thing. “oh! and darling!”

“what?”

“look ravishing.”

———————

_look ravishing._

a task easier said than done, but after an evening spent fretting over clothes and makeup and shoes, you think you’ve finally accomplished it.

“your nails are almost dry.” freddie says, setting down a bottle of black polish and blowing gently on your hands. he’d decided it necessary to come over after you called him for the third time, asking for advice on what to wear.

“and _you’re_ almost late for your own gig.” you say, frowning at the clock on your wall. “please, go. i’ll be good now, thanks to you.”

“*a queen is never late, my darling, everyone else is simply early.*” freddie hollers as he gathers his things and waltzes out the door. you shake your head with a grin. your friend is nothing if not eccentric.

you give the outfit freddie’s picked for you another glance in your bedroom mirror. the leather skirt he for some reason owns brushes your upper thigh and the hem of your sheer, sparkle-flecked black top, making the ensemble a tad more risque than anything you’d usually choose for yourself. but, complete with your favourite boots, stacks of silver rings and freshly curled hair, you feel like the epitome a of glam rock chick.

you just hope it’s enough to give you the confidence to talk to roger. you’d contemplated doing a shot or two but, ultimately, decided against it. if this is really going to happen, you want to be sober. you want it to be real.

after another half an hour of retouching your nail polish and scratching it immediately after, your cab sounds its horn from outside and you rush downstairs. it’s not a long ride to the venue, but it still gives you enough time to get yourself appropriately worked up.

“alright back there?” the cabbie asks you, furrowing his brows in the rearview mirror.

“i’m a little nervous. shit, is it that obvious?”

“not at all.” he chuckles, pulling into the curb outside a fancy looking pub.

 _well, fuck._ you think as you hand over a couple of pounds and jump out of the taxi. the line’s far longer than you’d expect for such an unknown band, stretching the length of building and then some. you’re overwhelmingly proud of your friend, and seeing his name up in lights above the crowd makes your heart fit to burst. freddie told you he left your name at the door, so you could just walk straight in, but you almost want to line up for a while. sort your head out. not to mention that you’d love to find out what kind of people make up the newly formed fanbase of _Queen._

 _far more catchy than smile,_ you reckon, before your attention is diverted by a drunken girl crowing from the front of the cue.

“and the blonde is so fucking hot. wish he would play me like those drums of his.” she says to her friend, who nods in earnest agreement.

_okay, maybe you’ll just go straight inside._

the venue’s already starting to fill when you walk in, the boys due on in just less than five. a roadie’s messing about up front, plugging in amps and mics, unfolding guitar stands and setting out picks. he’s arranging everything, except for roger’s drums. the kit stands solitary, immaculately clean and perfectly adjusted at the back of the stage.

brian wasn’t joking, it seems.

when the lights turn blue and hazy guitar chord reverberates around the place, the crowd abandons their drink and rushes to surround the stage, leaving you with an uninhibited view from the slightly elevated bar. deaky enters first, shooting a shy smile at the crowd, followed by brian, clutching the neck of his guitar in one of his ridiculously large hands.

 _what was it called,_ you ponder. _that guitar had a name._

it comes back to you as the burgundy tint catches the light. _the Red Special._

freddie swans out next, with his eyes smoked out and a silky white blouse draped over his shoulders. he looks nothing short of an enigma up there, perfectly in place. finally, roger emerges from the wings. he’s twirling his drum sticks around his finger like its second nature as he smirks at the overabundance of drunken girls, yelling his name followed by all manner of profanities. and really, you can’t blame them, because he looks like an angel up there. too ethereal to be real. you want him to hold you with the same bruising grip he’s using on his kit. you want to tug loose the last few buttons on his sheer blouse. twist your fingers round the necklaces tangled over his shimmering chest.

the only thing enchanting enough to distract you from roger is the music he plays, and although your eyes keep flitting back to him, you’re completely swept away by the harmonies and slides, intermingled with enough overdubs and guitar riffs to leave your head spinning. how you wish you had your camera with you to capture the four of them completely in their element. deaky, with his head bowed over his bass, fingers moving up and down the neck like bullets. brian with his leg slightly pivoted, angling his guitar just so as he plays lick after lick. freddie, turning and twirling and waving his hands about with his trademark theatricals. and roger, biting his lip and pounding on his drums, choppy hair flying back and forth as he leans into his microphone, never missing a single beat.

freddie’s played you some songs on the piano before and is almost constantly humming melodies when you’re together, but to see them played live is something entirely. and it’s over far too soon. as the boys thank the crowd profusely and regretfully deny their shouts of “encore”, you slip into the wings, where freddie told you to wait.

“you were extraordinary, fred.” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around your friend as he traipses off stage. 

“really? shit, i was pissing myself.” he laughs.

“really, really. you as well.” you say to brian, roger and deaky, all of them glistening and out of breath. “couldn’t believe it.”

“thanks love. don’t deserve such high praise.” brian smiles bashfully.

“speak for yourself, bri.” roger quips, drawing your attention back to the task at hand.

“uh, rog.” you turn to him. “can i have a moment?”

“course.” he replies, leading you away from the circle.

“i think i should apologise. for the other night.” you say softly, even though fred, brian and john are far too buzzed to be listening.

“you don’t have to, y/n. you don’t have to apologise for not wanting to shag me, _christ_.” roger says intently. you realise what he must think. you can see how churned up he is, and it makes you feel exceedingly guilty.

“that’s the thing, rog, i did. still do, actually. it’s just…” you trail off, anticipation tightening like a cord around your rib cage.

“what?” he says softly.

“you’d have been my first.” you breath, deciding that you hate the way the cliched “i’m a virgin” sounds coming out of your mouth.

“your first?” roger quirks a brow and you raise your in return. you can pinpoint the moment it hits him, palming his forehead and closing his eyes with a flurry of curses.

“ _shit_. i’m sorry. fuck. _fuck_ , i shouldn’t’ve pressured you.” he says. you can almost see his brain flicking over the night in question, looking for clues he should’ve picked up on.

“you didn’t, roger. fuck, i was keener than you, i think.”

“not sure about that.”

“but really. i just need you to know you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? i got a bit nervous, that’s all.” you say earnestly. roger’s been nothing but lovely to you, and you just can’t let him walk around thinking he’s somehow pressured into something you’re not ready for.

“mm.” he nods slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i hope you know love, that you didn’t have to be embarrassed.” his hands comes to rest on your jaw.

“i know. ‘s just that we’re pretty much opposites in that aspect i-. well i was intimidated.” you admit. you have no idea where the sudden candor came from. you barely know roger, and yet he makes you feel as if you can tell him anything and he’d understand. his allure is dangerously powerful, and you’re done resisting it. done putting it aside because of some stupid, insignificant differences.

roger gazes down at you, the corners of his lips tugging at a smile.

“what?” you prod in response to his smirk. 

“you said you still want to shag me.” he grins like a twelve year old.

“oh, shut up.” you giggle, and with an intake of breath and your last spur of courage, you say “i _would_ like to try again. if you don’t mind, of course.”

“don’t mind? love, it would be my pleasure.”

——————

the two of you waste no time in heading straight for the bedroom after journeying back to roger’s flat. despite how much you enjoyed the walk, the first chance you’ve really had to have such a long, unaccompanied conversation with each other, the heady anticipation and the way roger’s finger kept dancing around yours has left you more than a little riled up.

now, he kneels just in front of you, glancing up at you teasingly through those annoyingly pretty eyelashes.

“tickles, rog.” you giggle, as he hooks an elegant finger under the waistband of your skirt and tugs it down your thighs, kissing the soft skin as soon as it’s exposed. his shirt came off in the hallway and yours, somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, leaving you in just your underwear.

“try and hold still for me angel.” roger chuckles into your apex and tightens his grip on your waist.

by the time he’s tugged down your panties and teased you with his cool breath against your core, the butterflies are deafening, twisting your stomach with nervous excitement and anticipation.

“gonna be the first to take care of his pretty little cunt of yours.” roger mutters as he eases you back onto the bed, situating himself between your legs.

“please.” you whine softly. you can’t help but blush a little, hold back with your moans and whines and requests. you’re embarrassed. no one’s ever uttered such filth to you before.

“s’okay to speak up, baby. want to know you’re comfortable.” roger coos, teasing your aching clit with his pinky.

he looks like an angel framed between your thighs, all rouged lips and golden hair, yet the way he’s toying with you is nothing short of devilish.

“more than comfortable, rog.” you reassure, collapsing into a moan with another flick to your clit.

“good.” roger murmurs. he ducks his head, licking a stripe up your folds with force in such contrast to the gentle flicks from before that you squeal in pleasure. roger dips his head and chuckles.

“gotta stop distracting me by sounding so cute, jesus christ.”

“sorry.” you smile.

roger refocuses on you with a glint in his eye, delving with his tongue into places your fingers haven’t even explored.

“anyone ever done this before?” he mutters as he flicks his tongue over your clit.

“no-o.” you stutter, your hips jerking involuntarily towards rogers jaw at the sensation despite the bruising grip on your hip bone. rogers name circles your lips as your eyes flutter closed in a euphoric haze.

“look at me, angel.” roger squeezes your thigh and you struggle to keep your lids open through the pleasure, so intense it _hurts_.

your eyes are lust-blown and glassy and when rogers meet yours just as his teeth nudge at your painfully sensitive clit, _you’re ruined._ you can feel it building in the pit of your stomach, _shit_ , it’s almost like you have to piss. this is it.

_“holy shit rog.”_

but just before you can finish, roger slides back. his smirk is infuriating as he flicks his tongue over his bottom lip to clean it of your arousal. you feel deprived. pissed off. still aching. with a sob you reach for your clit, desperate to finish the job in any way you can.

“hey, hey, i’m taking care of you tonight, love.” roger tuts, lacing his fingers around your wrist.

“ _roger!_ ” you exclaim exasperatedly as you circle yourself with your other hand. you don’t care how desperate you sound now. you know you must look like a whiny, dripping mess in roger’s hands. but you’re far too flustered to be embarrassed.

“hey!” roger laughs as he grabs at your other wrist. “little minx. i’ll get you there. just thought the first time you came should be around me. is that okay?”

your jaw drops at the words that fall from his bruised lips so easily. his eyes are dipped in honey and his tone so innocent you almost expect him to suggest you call it a night with a kiss on the cheek. you can barely nod, overwhelmed by the suddenly _very real_ prospect of losing your oh-so-precious virginity. to roger taylor, nonetheless. you may as well have been taking your first painting lesson from michelangelo.

“need words, y/n love.” roger prompts, placing a hand on your jaw.

“yes. _god, yes_ rog.” you assure, coming back to your senses.

“are you sure? cause i’m happy to take things slow.” roger’s doe eyes are so earnest it almost melts your heart. instead, it melts the last bit of anxiety twisting the pit of your stomach.

“i’m certain.” you grin.

he toys with the button of his trousers while you palm the growing bulge at the crotch.

“jesus christ, woman. stop distracting me.” roger chuckles and you smile up at him through your lashes. the sight of you sitting sheepishly on your heels, cheeks red and lips bitten, eyes lust blown and staring at him through slowly blinking lids is almost too much for roger to handle.

“fuck me.” he growls.

“fuck _me_.” you reply, tugging the last section of roger’s zip down and his briefs aside.

“eager, aren’t we?” roger’s teases, freeing his cock of its restraints. your eyes widen.

“i-sorry.” you stammer. you’re not sure what you were expecting. a nice, small, starter-dick perhaps. certainly not the fucking tree trunk lying before you.

_okay, a slight exaggeration._

“pick up your jaw, love.” roger chuckles.

“it’s just- will you fit?” you say softly.

“god, you sound so fucking lovely right now.” roger mutters.

 _“roger.”_ you warn.

“it might hurt if i try.” he says. at least he tells you the truth, more than you can say for at least a dozen guys you know.

“i want you to, anyway.” you decide.

“you’re sure?” roger says, ghosting a palm over his length.

 _this better be really fucking good_.

“yep.”

“okay, lie back for me darlin.” roger instructs, tossing his butterfly-adorned leather pants and boxers to the corner of the room. his feather light touches tracing up and down your thighs are almost enough to distract you from the butterflies in your stomach, as big and flamboyant as those now crumpled on the floor. _almost enough._ and roger must notice the quickening in your breath because he pauses above you, arms braced on either side of your waist.

“you’re a little nervous?” he says softly. you nod hesitantly.

“i am-but, rog, i don’t think i ever won’t be. ’m nervous but i’m not scared.” you explain, as much to yourself as him. it’s your first time; highly anticipated and equally as intimidating. but you do feel comfortable with roger. you feel ready.

“how very wise.” roger chuckles. “is it possible you’re even more eloquently spoken than brian?”

“i’m _really_ not thinking about brian right now, rog.” you giggle.

“glad to hear it, love.” within an instant the seductive lilt is back in his voice, and he’s leaning over you to place delicate kisses on your chest. as he finally, _finally_ nudges gently into you, your heavy lids fly open.

“alright baby?” he pants.

“mmm.” you whimper, your core burning.

as he pushes in further you stutter, strings of curses falling from his mouth in perfect harmony with your flurry of whimpering mewls

“so fucking tight for me, baby” he mutters, muscles twitching from holding his weight. you feel _full_ in a way neither your fingers or rogers could ever accomplish.

“m’ gonna start moving now.” roger says “that okay?”

you nod, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you becoming more pleasurable by the second as you adjust to his size. he begins to thrust in and out of you slowly, and the pace clearly agonising to him from the way he’s nipping desperately at his bottom lip, sweat beading along his mussed hairline.

“roger. rogie.” you tug at his hair softly.

“mm?”

“you can speed up.” you urge, almost giggling at the instant gratitude and relief that floods his features.

“are you sure? don’t want to hurt you.”

“more than sure. fuck me good and proper.” you chuckle.

“where did you bloody come from?” roger mutters, pressing wet kisses to your décolletage. he snaps his hips to yours at a clip, building in intensity until he’s slamming into you over and over.

“taking me so well for your first time, pretty thing.”

you moan every time words tumble from his pillowy, bruised-from-biting lips, everytime his pretty lashes flutter in ecstasy

“so bloody tight, _fuck_ , babygirl.”

 _god, god, god_ so this is why people go on and on about sex. you’ve never felt such fucking pleasure in your life.

“ _roger_.” you pant, wrapping your legs around his waist, desperate to feel his touch on every part of you. he tilts his thrusts accordingly, his cock nudging a place inside you that causes the bed sheets to twists in your palms until your knuckles turn white. you’re approaching the edge embarrassingly fast, if you even know what that is. you can’t help but smile, even in your fucked out state at how completely contradictory this is to every teenage movie you’ve ever watched. where the horny sixteen year old boy cums after only ten seconds and his girl’s left high and dry. _lucky you_.

“oh fuck.” you whimper. roger feels you clench around him, hears your breath hitch in his ear and knows you’re nearly there.

“can’t wait to feel you clench ‘round me, pretty girl. already so fucking tight.” he says, reaching for your clit and teasing it mercilessly with the rough pads of his fingers and it’s _too much._

“i can’t.” you squeeze your eyes closed, your hips bucking into rogers hands at their own accord.

“so close, baby. just let go.” roger whispers, and with a final circle of your clit he’s sent you into your orgasm, your _first_ orgasm, with such intensity you’re quite literally seeing stars. it’s toe curling, back arching, nails scratching his back. breath hitching, vision flashing, every cliche in the book pleasure.

_ohfuckohfuckohfuck_

you’re all breathy moans and chanting his name as roger fucks you through your high and into his.

“w-where’d ya want me lovely?” he pants, gnawing at his bottom lip as he awaits your answer. but you meet him with only a confused expression. the boys got stamina, that’s something even someone as inexperienced as you had to admit.

“where should i finish?” he prompts hurriedly, thrusts growing staggered and uneven.

“oh.” the syllable drops heavily from your lips. you hadn’t thought about that.

the cacophony of soft moans and stuttered curses ebbing from his mouth, the haste in his hips as they snap to yours makes you feel like you could come undone again, with roger right where he is.  
“right there, rog. don’t move-fuck.” you stammer, and he nods at you with wide eyes.

“shit, sweet girl. gonna cum again?” roger prompts, and the moan you give in response is all he needs to reel over the edge. with his hot seed spilling against you and a tight circle on your clit, you join him in his high, the soft grunts he makes as he ruts into you quite possibly the loveliest sound you’ve ever heard.

“fuck.” you sigh as roger pulls out of you and drops onto the mattress beside.

“fuck indeed.” he murmurs, his hand caressing your shaking thigh. “did so well, baby. did it live up to your expectations?”

“exceeded them by miles.” you say, flipping yourself over so one of your elbows supports you on the mattress while the other rests on roger’s chest.

“you flatter me.” he laughs, eyes fluttering closed as you trace stars over his collar bones.

“where’re you going?” you pout as roger suddenly swings his legs over the bed, pulling his boxers on haphazardly.

“to run you a bath.” he answers, padding into the ensuite bathroom. “don’t want you getting sore or anything.”

brash? _was that what freddie had said?_ a ladies man, forward, flirty, gorgeous. and now you’ve got to add _incredibly-fucking-sweet_ to the list.

is this boy even real? you wonder as he re emerges from the bathroom, leaning in the doorway, waiting for the claw-foot bath to fill. with his hazy eyes and messy hair and boxer strap twisted on his narrow waist.

“are you still perving on me?” roger says without looking at you.

“ _still?_ don’t be daft.”

“don’t think i didn’t see you tonight. couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you love?”

“you know, for a _dentistry student_ , you’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, roger taylor.”

“you fancied me far before you saw me in action tonight, didn’t you?” he probes, _cheeky bastard_ , bringing colour to your already flushed cheeks.

“i guess opposites do, in fact, attract.” 

roger furrows his eyebrows. “what?”

“nothing.” you mutter, as roger realises that the bath’s overflowing with a curse. you smile fondly at his blonde head, shaking fervently as he drops a sopping towel to the floor. “just some stupid thing that freddie said.”


End file.
